“So he’s really dead?”
If Violet had anything to say about Maris, it was that she was a very blunt Queen. She had about three hundred other, more vulgar things to say about her, but Violet didn’t know how that information would fare in front of royalty. She kept her mouth shut.
She stood at her master, Veida’s side, pristine white walls encasing the three of them. This was their lab, one of the best in all of Hybrid, certainly the best Violet had ever seen, and very likely the best in the world. It was a gigantic enterprise, with different chambers for different experiments spreading out for a daunting distance. Scientists walked at a swift pace through every chamber, always busy, always having something or other to do, and there was a general buzz of chatter that pervaded every crevice of the place.
Except for this room. Here, a barebones block with no more decoration than some cushioning to sit on, and a coffee table, silence reigned king. Whenever Violet felt intimidated, or overwhelmed, or otherwise pressed against a wall, she paid attention to the minutiae of her surroundings. This included the tiny little sounds that could always be heard. The rustling of plumbing, the gentle sway of wind or patting of rain droplets against an open window; the sound of distant voices from the rooms below.
But in here, that kind of salvation was not to be found.
The room was soundproofed, and served one purpose: hosting the exchange of confidential information. The kind of news that would shake up the world once it's released out into the public. Yet, whenever something really outlandish occurred, it wasn’t something you could fully keep secret. You could box it up, like chains of secrecy keeping hold firm a new suspect. But like water seeping out, like a man with a saw slowly breaking free of his confines, rumours would spread, and it would escape.
Especially something as big as this.
“Java was killed. Yes, that is correct. By Enos.”
Veida was equally as blunt, Violet had come to find. Though she supposed that wasn’t the worst trait in the world. It served one to cut to the chase, wherever possible. Ripping off the bandaid often helped more than latching on.
“This is something indeed. How exciting!” Maris seemed to be taking this news like it was the best thing she had heard all day. In fact . . . was that a toothy grin forming on her face? “It has been a while since a god was on the chopping block. Though I do wonder, what happened to the Speed Clan? I’ve heard you two have encountered their condition, first hand.”
Violet wanted to tell the stupid God-Graced that she was taking matters far too lightly. The world had just gone through one of the most tenuous times in recent history, and a god’s murder was just the cherry on top of the cake of misery.
Veida, however, and perhaps wisely, did the talking. “They seem to have developed oracular abilities. But they’re far more reliable than any oracles Descent has ever seen. Every single thing they’ve uttered so far — the ability bringing them to the brink of death — has come true. They predicted Damosh’s descent into madness Durations before his first killing. Maris, the other things they’ve predicted may be distant, but if they’re as true as their other visions . . . this is just the beginning. The future is dark.”
Again, that bone-chilling silence. Like the marrow in Violet’s bones had been filled with ice, glaciers pricking into her skin. She suddenly felt the urge to shiver.
“Well then.” Even Maris seemed taken aback. Perhaps her youthful disregard of everything thus far had been a front? Surely someone who had reached her level of power and influence was at least a little self-aware. “That is serious. What of the Speed Clan, how are they faring?”
“Suffice to say, they’re in chaos. For a time, they were stranded without power following Java’s death. Imagine an entire sect Death-Marked.” Violet shoved down the connotations of that word. “But then, for some reason, may the gods bless us with a clear explanation, their Marks relit, blazing again with a newfound power. The Time Clan may be a more appropriate name now. The power that flows through them, however lethal, is a different deity’s.”
Maris leaned forward. “Who? How?”
Violet and Veida locked eyes, exchanging so much without a word. “You see,” Veida continued, “for a long time now, Java was rumoured to have not only dominion over Speed, but over Time itself. Clocks and other related imagery are seen throughout many of the Speed Clan’s Marks. But nothing came out of the theory, until now.”
Memories flashed through Violet’s mind of Dishtree’s death, and although she felt like retching at the nearest opportunity, she pressed on. “I managed to get one of the Speed Clansmen to converse with me, in his final moments. He seemed to be slipping in and out of visions, his mind going berserk, but he found the strength to recount to me what he saw. He mentioned, right on the cusp of death, seeing a god approaching Java’s body. Then he muttered the word ‘brother’. Allegedly, the two deities looked identical.”
Maris stroked her hairless chin, the water of her hands and face sliding into each other. “And . . . ?”
Veida picked up for her. “We suspect that Java has a brother. A twin brother. That would explain why the god Java was confused with the power of Time. One brother of Speed, one of Time.”
“Quite the powerful blood . . .” Maris trailed off. “Strange. I’ve never heard of gods being ‘related’. They don’t share blood like that, and neither are they born in that manner. They formed, I believe originally, from Infinity colliding into each other, and imbued with sentient will.”
Violet had heard many stories of the gods’ inception, but never in such a literal, scientific way. It was eerily similar to the creation of Unbounded. Two sides of the same coin.
“Perhaps it’s due to how similar their areas of power are. After all, Time and Speed are one and the same, if you ruminate on it long enough.”
Maris nodded along, staring at the wall. “I need time to think on this. Do any other God-Graced know?”
“Well, it’s a hard secret to keep.” Veida answered. “Nearly everyone was reliant on the Speed Clan’s carriage system. People are at a loss. There are other ways to travel, of course, but they’re nowhere near as efficient. A gap as big as that in the system is hard to miss. Though I doubt anyone knows as much as we do, Maris, but it won’t be for long. Many clans are investigating matters. Once someone with the same vision as Dishtree recounts the truth, it’ll be worldwide news. I’d say we have the information maybe a few days early.”
If this whole lab wasn’t funded by Maris, and she wasn’t the reigning Queen of Hybrid, despite overstaying her welcome, Violet and Veida would be more inclined to release this news publicly. But Maris, like most God-Graced, was tricky. She latched onto secrets with a firm grip. Any advantage to her would be taken, even for something as catastrophic as this.
“Your Majesty, we also have another topic of interest we believe you’d want to hear.”
Maris nodded. “Go on?”
“We’ve located Nova.”
Even with her face mere ripples in the liquid of her face, Violet still saw Maris raise her eyebrows. Or the liquid equivalent.
The last remaining Right-bearer. Practically every God-Graced was keen to have the fiend killed, and be done with it. The honour of being the one to vanquish this generation of Right-bearers, once and for all, would be something indeed.
“He’s somewhere in the mazes of Great Oasis. Disturbing the trainees there and all around making a ruckus. He seems to be . . . not well, mentally.”
“As in?”
“As in, Enos seems to be controlling him, exaggerating his more eccentric, bloodlusted attributes.” Veida answered. “He’s a raging, bloodlusted killing machine.”
Maris frowned. “And this isn’t public knowledge, why?”
“He spends much of his time in hiding. The place has been abandoned, with trainees prohibited from entering the stone labyrinth. It is common knowledge, really, but most people claim it's a ridiculous rumour. People searched around the maze, multiple times, and they found no great Unbounded in hiding. No servant of Enos peeping around the corner. Nothing at all. As for why those dead bodies appeared . . . people are starting to suspect foul play amongst the training clansmen.”
“That they killed each other? Do you think it’s a cover up for a fight gone too far?”
“I don’t. We’ve been reading the Infinity fluctuations from that area using our lab’s technology. It goes without saying that Violet has encountered Nova’s aura directly, and she recounts that the power emanating from that place, and the power from her father, are one and the same. But people are catching on. I hear they’re sending people from the Memory Clan to replay the events of the trainees’ killings. Any day now, it will be public knowledge.”
Violet inhaled. This was the part she was waiting for. Her body tensed, as she hoped that things would pan out smoothly.
“As we know you like to use information to your advantage, we wanted to consult you before confirming Nova’s presence to the public — or as close to a confirmation as we can get. If you allowed us to make this public, we would very much appreciate it. Violet is intent on attacking Nova herself. That may sound rash, but she knows more of Nova’s abilities than anyone alive. And now her power is equal to a peak Splintered Rank. One more powerful intake of Infinity, and she'll be quite the Warlord.”
Maris contemplated this all, before narrowing her eyes on Violet. “So this will be one more intake of Infinity for you, to boost your power, and to tie up loose ends. Killing two birds with one stone.”
Violet wasn’t sure how to read her tone. “I know it’s a huge favour, but I’m not asking to go alone. We’ll gather a force of God-Graced, and I’ll use my knowledge of my father to guide them.”
Just when Violet was going to burst from anticipation, the most freakish grin Violet could imagine contorted Maris’ face. “And let’s just say, hypothetically, I play along with this plan. You’ll be doing everything in your power to land the killing blow, correct?”
When Violet hesitated, Maris burst into laughter.
“Okay, okay, this sounds like fun. I consent to your plan. Just kill Nova under my name, as my servant. This will be great for our image.”
Violet forced a smile, which was pretty easy, so ecstatic at the agreement as she was. But still, when Maris revealed her own self-centred intentions so plainly, it was hard not to wrinkle her nose at the woman. Then again, Violet had done just the same, mere moments before. Though the use of our pricked at her like a thorn. At least Violet hadn’t had the audacity to pretend her desires were for the benefit of everyone here. Killing Nova was an entirely personal matter, regardless of if the entire world stood to gain from it.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“Who would you like on this team, then?” Maris enquired, catching Violet off-guard. She had been too busy staring daggers into the woman.
“The Three Pillars, definitely. They were vital in slaying the rest of this Right-bearer generation. Eshika and I are on especially good terms. As for who else . . .”
Memories of a certain someone came to mind, but Violet bit her tongue.
Whoever she chose, it mattered little.
After an aeon of getting away with atrocity after atrocity, wreaking havoc across Descent at every turn, her vile beast of a father was finally going to get what he deserved.
Even a grave was too good for him.
----------------------------------------
Remus sat by the fire, feeling the sparks fly up by his face, dangerously close, only to whisk away at the last moment. While it was an odd training exercise, the sparks obeyed his Mark's call, turning into a stark neon blue, and illuminating through the dark of night, in fleeting drifts.
The campfire only served to warm the group up — Barley and the rest of the small party could blink a meal into existence, being from the Feast Clan and all. There was no need to hang a piece of meat over a spit, it all came out of thin air, precooked to perfection.
Remus chewed on a piece of meat, watching as the little remnants of sunlight that clutched to the skies dispersed. They were halfway to Hybrid already. With an endless supply of food to energise you, it was surprising how much land you could cover. Even with his lower body reinforced through round after round of advancement, the soles of Remus’ feet ached. A testament to how quickly they were making ground.
“Compliments to the chef,” Remus smirked, dragging himself back into the present.
“That will be three hundred Inklings, plus a tip.” The older woman, Tess, interjected. “You know, to the chef.”
“By the way,” Remus continued. “I’m surprised there aren’t more Feast Clan restaurants out there. The amount of profit potential . . . though I suppose they have you prioritising war supplies, don’t they?”
“Indeed, rations and the like.” Barley seemed to be holding back a frown. “I’ve always liked the idea of starting up a business, but when the whole world is going mad, even things like that become a little complicated.”
Remus leaned back on his log, retrieved from a tree he’d tugged from the ground only moments prior. He looked up to where a constellation bore down on him, like some celestial god winking. Never having been any good at recognising stars and their intricate patterns, he didn’t try too hard to interpret what he was seeing. Nevertheless, peeking at the universe like this felt almost shameful. Like Remus was peering past the curtain of reality, seeing the clockwork that really made everything tick.
“Isn’t it strange, how up there, right now, the gods are fighting?” The words tip-toed their way out of his mouth before he could notice. “Always in some kind of turmoil. They never have any peace. I don’t pity them much, but at least we have brief respites like these. One thing we have over the gods is this: they can’t enjoy a simple campfire.”
There was a brief null in the conversation, and Remus immediately regretted saying a word. Recently, his thoughts were better left to himself; he was getting far too existential.
“Someone’s feeling philosophical tonight, eh?” Clove, the second youngest in the group, next to Remus, spoke. His face was flushed, and Remus was pretty certain that wasn’t water he was drinking so much of.
“I always get this way, late at night. It gets me thinking . . . we should come up with a name.”
“A name?” Clove repeated, sounding intrigued. “Do we need one?”
“Well, it would help to have something recogniseable.” Considered Barley. “What were you thinking?”
Remus fidgeted. “Something simple. And I like the idea of it being recogniseable. The kind of thing you can hear and know precisely what you’re up against, or signing up for.”
“Hmmm. How about the Association of Organised Rebellion Against Damosh, Ruler of First Rite, and All Who Follow His Childish Whims?”
Remus didn’t quite know how to regard Clove. “Something tells me that might just be a tad too convoluted. Think simpler. Five words or less.”
“We need something that unites our men. Something that all our squadrons can appreciate.” Remus always valued Barley’s logical input. “Something in common with anyone who will want to serve the cause.”
Clove took another swig of that mysterious liquid, and burped. “Hating Damosh?”
“I don’t think basing our image on hatred is too swell an idea.” Remus replied. “Try more positive.”
The group thought for a moment.
“Our biggest source of men is bound to be from the Talents of the Realm, correct?” Tess broke the silence. “How about a play on words of that?”
“The Talents of . . . The talents . . .” Clove blinked drearily, his head slumping on Remus’ shoulder.
“The future. The Talents of the Future!” Barley burst out. “It fits, don’t you think, captain?”
Remus blinked. “I mean, it’s a great idea, but really — captain?”
The group erupted into laughter, all except Clove. He was collapsed on the floor, drooling from the mouth. Remus tried not to think too harshly on their force’s future prospects.
“I like the name.” Tess said simply.
“Agreed,” Remus felt a smile growing on his lips. “It fits.”
Remus tried to return to his meal, to forget the rest of his worldly concerns, for at least one night, but found it impossible. He had to know.
“How bad . . . just how bad is it?”
There was no need to expand on what he meant.
“Every bit as bad as we’ve explained thus far.” Tess’ words hit like daggers into the soul, digging deeper, and deeper. “I just hope we get to First Rite fast. I’m scared for their safety. My family, I mean, and the rest of the Talents. This cause though.” The doom and gloom left her tone. “It’ll be something truly valuable to them. A haven.”
Remus grumbled. “I hope so. I just have this bitter taste in my mouth that won’t go away. Like I’m exploiting these innocent people. That I’m leading them to their deaths. I can’t stand it one bit.” The others moved in closer, and knowing they were going to try and console him, Remus held out hand. “Don’t try to reassure me. I know, I know, we’re the force of good here. . . I just can’t stomach how joining a rebellion like this is the only choice for some people. It’s this, or death.”
Remus was evidently a barrel of laughs tonight. Even Clove has woken up from his drunken stupor, and despite himself, didn’t dare utter a word.
“Using Divine Ground to entrap, torture, and kill everybody.” Remus huffed. “It’s grotesque. Damosh is corrupting the gift of Divine power. He mocks the grace of the gods.”
Barley leapt out of his seat. “That’s it! That’s our motto! Damosh is dishonouring the gods themselves. People will rally behind that!”
“Motto?” Remus was thrown off his verbal crusade. “I don’t know, I’m not the greatest orator out there. If I have to deliver a speech to the people, I’m not too certain on how it would fare.”
“Whatever the case, we’ll get at least somebody with a decent speech in them, after we gather our troops. We just have to get the ball rolling. People will be rallying to join the Talents of the Future in the droves. I swear by it.”
Barley’s kind words were like the final notes of a lullaby. Remus yawned, stretched, back, and with a crescent moon glaring down at him, fell into a deep slumber.
It was comforting to know that at least someone believed in him.
----------------------------------------
Remus opened his eyes, and knew in a moment that he was dreaming.
The air was alive with noise. As if the wind itself was screaming, the ears of his dream-self on the verge of bursting with blood. He blinked, for some reason needing to adjust to the light around, and felt his throat constrict.
He was knee-deep in mud, sinking deeper with every passing second. With a hoarse shout, Remus twisted and struggled, his body contorting to form impossible shapes, as he tried everything, absolutely everything, in his power to escape.
Like quicksand, the goo would not relent its hold.
With all the strength of the chains that had confined him during that disaster of a trial, he was ensnared.
Quicker and quicker, his subconscious was picking up on minute details. The sand all around, the vague, inky silhouettes dotted all across the landscape. Despite this not being his real body, Remus’ dream form did an excellent job at replicating his real fear.
Remus’ heart rate accelerated, his blood threatening to splatter open every vein and artery with how fast it was gushing through him. Exploding out of fear wasn’t technically possible, but in a lucid episode like this, who was to say what could happen? Remus wouldn’t be surprised if his subconscious meticulously selected the ideal mixture of real and fiction to best traumatise him.
His breaths were laborious things, coming and going so fast, any nurse would have pinned him down as hyperventilating. Recognition was the most terrifying thing of all.
Eyes drawn to one image in the middle-distance, still in crystal clarity, Remus’s worst fears were realised
The Supreme Fiend and his great grandfather, Andreas, duking it out. With all the ferocity of two bulls partaking in a bar fight.
Remus screamed out, spasming in the pit that now dragged him down to his torso. He shook, he wretched his body from side to side, he tried to force his eyes shut, but found them snapping open out of some cruel volition.
He needed to escape. He needed to get away from this nightmare, before-
If you could retch in dreams, he was damn near it.
Remus watched, helpless, as his grandfather’s body toppled down to the ground. Dust blew out, a sheet of sand reaching all the way to blind his eyes. But it was no good — Remus had already seen it. It burnt a hole into his retinas, akin to the Andreas shaped hole in his heart.
He woke up, still screaming, but didn’t realise it until Clove rushed over.
“Hey man, are you okay?”
Remus tried to catch his breath, shooting upright, but failed. “Yes, I- it was a nightmare. I’m . . .” he inhaled a much needed breath. “Fine.”
It was dark out still, morning but a speck on the horizon. Dreary but concerned faces turned to face him. Remus wanted to slap himself — he’d thought those kinds of nightmares had ended Durations ago, now he had to burden his teammates with his nightly terrors too. Fantastic.
Barley drew close, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Remus, are you sure-”
“I appreciate your concern, Barley but I’m fine.” Remus snapped testily. “It was a nightmare, nothing more. I’m sorry for waking you all up. We’ll start a little later tomorrow to compensate.”
Tess eyed him warily, but left him alone. Barley should have followed her suit. “Remus, I know I might be intruding here, but it’s not good to bottle up your emotions. I might be making a stretch here, but you’re having trouble advancing, aren’t you?”
Remus didn’t see how that was at all relevant. He wanted to snap back and say so, but being rude wasn’t going to help matters. Barley was genuinely trying to assist him; Remus just wished he wouldn’t.
The part that irritated him the most, was, strangely, the fact that the man was right. For some reason, the boundary between Foot-Soldier and Vanguard dwarfed any other advancement he’d made so far. That was to be expected, of course, but it didn’t feel like Remus was making progress. It felt like he had run into a wall, and was continually slamming his head against it.
“Some people say that intense emotions can interfere with the delicacy needed for Splintered Rank. Whatever of the divine constructs you decide to make requires intense concentration. The fusion process is difficult indeed.”
“Barley, trust me, I’m-”
“Listen to me Remus.” Barley said firmly. “I’m not trying to undermine your power, or point out a problem that isn’t there. This is just something that I think needs addressing. I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped, but please consider what I’ve had to say. This may be the only roadblock between you and Splintered Rank.”
Remus blinked a few times, staring up at the skies with undisguised tension. The black canvas contained nothing. An emptiness. He wondered where all the stars had gone.
“Thank you.” He eventually said. “I’ll take it into consideration.”
No more words were spoken.
Falling back to sleep that night was a troubling ordeal, alright.